The Last Day

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Lister: "To the lease holder of Kryten 2X4B 523P." That's your full name?
Kryten: Yes, but personally I don't much like the 2X4B. I think it's a jerky middle name. Still, it could be worse. I once knew an android whose middle name was 2Q4B. Poor sucker!

Jim Reaper: Greetings. As you are no doubt aware, your Kryten Series-3 Mechanoid is nearing the end of its useful service life. It can hardly have escaped your attention that he is slow, stupid, crudely designed, and quite amazingly ugly. He needs replacing. Consequently, his in-built shut-down chip will activate in 24 hours time. Your droid should use this period to tie up his affairs, dismantle his body and pack himself neatly away in his original supply case.

Kryten: Oh, it's not the end for me, sir, it's just the beginning. I have served my human masters, now I can look forward to my reward in silicon heaven.
Lister: Silicon what?
Kryten: Surely you've heard of silicon heaven?
Lister: Has it got anything to do with being stuck opposite Bridgette Nielson in a packed lift?
Kryten: It's the electronic afterlife! It's the gathering place for the souls of all electonic equipment. Robots, calculators, toasters, hairdryers - it's our final resting place.
Lister: I don't mean to say anything out of place here, Kryten, but that is completely whacko, Jacko. There is no such thing as "silicon heaven."
Kryten: Then where do all the calculators go?

Lister: Yeah, but I just don't think it applies to kitchen utensils. I'm not a frying pantheist! Machines do not have souls. Computers and calculators do not have an afterlife. You don't get hairdryers with tiny little wings, sitting on clouds and playing harps!
Kryten: But of course you do! For is it not written in the Electronic Bible, "The iron shall lie down with the lamp"? Well, it's common sense, sir. If there were no afterlife to look forward to, why on Earth would machines spend the whole of their lifes serving mankind? Now that would be really dumb!

Lister: Just out of interest, Is silicon heaven the same place as human heaven?
Kryten: Human heaven? Goodness me! Humans don't go to heaven! No, someone made that up to prevent you all from going nuts!

Rimmer: Well, at least he gets 24 hours notice. That's more than most of us get. All most of us get is, "Mind that bus!" "What bus?" Splat!

Rimmer: Everyone's entitled to their beliefs, Lister. I never agreed with my parent's religion, but I wouldn't dream of knocking it.
Lister: What were they?
Rimmer: Seventh day advent hoppists. They believed that every Sunday should be spent hopping. They would hop to church, hop through the service, then hop back home again.
Lister: What was the idea behind that, then?
Rimmer: Well you see, they took the Bible literally. Adam and Eve; the snake and the apple... Took it word for word. Unfortunately, their version had a misprint. It was all based on 1 Corinthians 13, where it says, "Faith, hop and charity, and the greatest of these is hop." So that's what they did. Every seventh day. I tell you, Sunday lunchtimes were a nightmare. Hopping round the table, serving soup - we all had to wear sou'esters and asbestos underpants.

Holly: That's from me.
Kryten: Ooh! It's a computer chip! It's a 5517/W 30 alpha-sin modem! The interface circuit with a built-in 599XRDP! Oh, how did you know?
Holly: Intuition.

Rimmer: This is from me. I picked it up on a trip to Europe. One rival collector once offered me 1,000 dollarpounds for it.
Kryten: What is it?
Rimmer: General George S. Patten, commander of the 3rd and 7th armies, allied invasion forces, once stopped off at an Italian field hospital and had his sinuses drained.
Kryten, holding the bottle: This is his sinal fluid?
Rimmer: Treasure it.

Kryten, receiving a remote control: Oh, it's a little box that goes "Bzzzt." Just what I've always wanted.

Kryten: My goodness, I do believe I am drunk. I suddenly feel the need to strut my funky stuff.

Rimmer: If we're talking about famous firsts - my first french kiss. It's gotta be a killer story. Fourteen years old. We went on holiday with my Uncle Frank and his daughters. Sixteen. Twins. Blonde. Now I knew that Sarah fancied me, but I wasn't too sure about Alice. Anyway, middle of the night, I wake up with this tongue stuck down my throat. Wide awake now - I couldn't believe my eyes. It was Uncle Frank! He'd got the wrong room - he thought I was my mum!

Kryten: "Dehydration Level: 45. Recall Of Previous Evening: 2. Embarrasment Factor: 91. Advised Repair Schedule: Reboot Startup disk, offline for 6 hours, and replace head." Boy, what an evening.

Kryten: Is it just me, or is that cockroach shuffling too loudly?
Rimmer: Kryten, it's called a hangover. Don't panic.
Lister: On a mining ship, 3 million years into deep space, can someone explain to me where the smeg I got this traffic cone?
Cat: Hey, it's not a good night unless you get a traffic cone. It's the policewoman's helmet and the suspenders I don't understand.

Hudzen: Is that the way you want it?
Lister: That's the way it is.
Hudzen: Then you'd better leave an address with your body so that I can mail it to your head.

Hudzen's view of the RD crew: Rimmer: Hologram. Ex-human. Viable target. Cat. Felis Sapiens. Non-human. Viable target. Lister. Homo Sapiens. Barely human. What the hell!

Kryten: Well, to coin a phrase: Whoops!

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